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30 Verdant Rain Moon, 1186
Imperial Palace, Enbarr
If every person Annette Fantine Dominic had helped return to the heavens became a star, the night sky would be too glaring for her to sleep.
Cradling her injured left shoulder in its sling, she stood alone on a second story balcony in the Imperial Palace, overlooking the city of Enbarr, newly conquered by the Kingdom Army that morning. The night was surprisingly calm despite all of the day’s bloodshed, and it struck Annette as surreal, all of it—that she was here in such a peaceful moment, on a gloriously clear late summer night, with the war finally over. The quiet streets below her weren’t deserted as much as subdued; a rare moment of respite after five long years of war.
Was it really, truly over? All of the years of fear and doubt, loss and grief? War had aftermath, she knew that; nothing in this broken Fódlan would be easily repaired without the same dedication and hard work that had won the war. But repairing herself—body, heart, and soul—was that something she knew how to do? Would there be a night like tonight, five years from now, when she no longer felt obligated to pray for peace for all the wayward souls whose lives she’d been forced to take?
“To all of those who lost the day, let me send your soul on its way,” she sang quietly, tilting her head to take in the glittering canvas of stars, hoping that the fallen heard it somehow on their return journey to the goddess.
She sang it again, twice more, as was her wont. It was the same ritual she’d invented after the second battle to defend Garreg Mach, and repeated nightly. Hopefully this was the last time she’d have to sing for freshly departed opponents, but part of Annette doubted it.
“That’s a new one.”
Annette nearly fell over from the awkward balancing act of not ramming her injured side into the thick iron railing. She was klutzy at the best of times, but only the sardonic voice of Felix Hugo Fraldarius sent her body hurtling backwards in time to the worst of her childhood clumsiness.
“I don’t know how you always manage to do that,” she said crossly, laying a hand over her racing heart. “Do you have a built in ability to hear me singing, no matter where I am?”
Felix’s lips quirked, but he didn’t take the bait to banter with her; he was too focused on the sling around her arm. Annette’s eyes swept over him in turn, noting that he’d also had his injuries treated, with no outward sign he’d ever been wounded.
It felt like Annette blinked, and Felix had crossed the length of the balcony to loom over her, his face illuminated by the bright light of the nearly full moon. Saints, he moved so fast.
“When did that happen?” he asked, eyes fixed on her arm.
“A Mortal Savant attacked after you went ahead. The Professor took him out, before you ask.”
Felix nodded, and his posture relaxed infinitesimally. The knowledge that he cared about her safety enough to seek her out now meant a lot to Annette, more than she’d let herself feel in the past. She opened her mouth to inquire after his own health, but he surprised her by speaking first.
“Do you regularly sing that song for the fallen?”
“What? Um… well, yes, actually,” she stammered, too stunned by his question to evade it. “I have after every battle. I know it’s probably silly and strange.”
He looked out over the quiet cityscape below, his expression pensive.
“I think it’s compassionate,” he said quietly.
Annette was so floored by his reaction—by the lack of judgment, like she’d braced herself for—her mouth ran off before her brain fully caught up.
“I usually wait till it’s night, and quiet outside, and I can see the stars. Especially if the Blue Sea Star is out like it is right now, so it’s like the fallen souls can find their destination more easily. But my mother taught me to...” she trailed off, realizing she was babbling.
“Taught you to do what?” Felix asked, after an awkward silence had stretched between them.
His eyes remained fixed on the conquered city around them, something Annette found strangely reassuring. She hadn’t told anyone this story, not even Mercie. With the ashes of the war-torn world settling around them, it felt strangely right to share this memory with Felix.
“Every night after Father’s departure, I found Mother outside, looking at the Blue Sea Star. I asked her what she was doing, and she said that the stars brought her comfort, because they were always there, no matter what changed in her life. She especially loved the Blue Sea Star, for its connection with the goddess.”
Felix was silent, but his presence next to her felt companionable. Annette paused and tilted her head, focusing on the distant glow of that same star, before she returned her attention to the man beside her.
“When I was accepted into the School of Sorcery in Fhirdiad, my last evening with my mother was spent outside, watching the sky. Father had been gone a few years by then, and Mother had found comfort by knowing he was looking up and seeing the same stars wherever he was. It helped her feel connected to him, despite the pain of separation. So she told me the same thing: to look up at the stars any time I felt lonely. She’d always be looking at them, too, and always began with the Blue Sea Star if it was visible. So, that’s what I’ve always done, even on days when I felt like the world was coming to an end.”
“Tomorrow is more than a new day,” Felix said, turning his dark amber gaze on her for the first time since she began her story.
“I’m still in disbelief that the Emperor is gone,” she admitted. “It doesn’t feel real.”
“The fighting will truly be over,” Felix said, shock registering on his face like he hadn’t really thought about it before. “The future everyone fought and died for is here, at last. And I—”
He shook his head, and Annette found herself leaning in, as though to comfort him, and barely restrained herself. For once, she offered him the same silent understanding he’d granted her, and, eventually, he accepted it.
“I did what my father and Glenn couldn’t do—survive. I helped the boar secure his throne, and I beat every person I crossed on the battlefield, to stand here alive. Now that it’s done, it’s like I’m… aimless.” The last words were almost a whisper.
“Then start somewhere, and see how it goes,” Annette said gently, turning to look at the Blue Sea Star, taking comfort from its bright steady glow.
She felt the weight of Felix’s gaze, and turned to look up at him. His eyes were hooded by the shadows, but she still felt the intensity of his regard, as if it were etched into his posture; a tangible force between them.
“Just start somewhere, huh?” he murmured.
She nodded encouragingly, and gave him a small smile. “Mother always said that life is a series of cycles, with clear transitions between each one. We’ve reached the end of the war, and that cycle is ending. The future is wherever we start, right?”
Felix frowned, but in a contemplative way, and Annette could tell he was mulling her words.
“Perhaps it’s easier for Dimitri in a way I’d never thought of,” Annette continued, startled by the thoughts as they left her mouth. “For all that he’s struggled to face his destiny as the future King, he knows who he wants to be. Today is the first time since we retook Fhirdiad where he didn’t seem overwhelmed by that burden.”
“Some of us were raised for futures we didn’t want, some inherited them by misfortune,” Felix said, a harsh edge to his words, although his tone sounded more resigned than angry. “Yet all of us will probably end up doing what we’re expected to do.”
Annette could tell he was thinking about more than himself with that statement. His childhood friends Ingrid and Sylvain had always struggled with the legacy of their crests. For Felix personally, his brother Glenn’s death, followed by that of his father, Lord Rodrigue, had left the Fraldarius Dukedom in his hands. She had never known whether he was willing to shoulder that burden. Watching his mouth set into a hard line, his shoulders hitched up from tension, it became clear that Felix hadn’t decided that yet, either.
Uncertain how to help, Annette resorted to something she’d always been embarrassed to do before—deliberately singing in front of Felix. For goddess knew how long, they stood side by side at the railing, his eyes fixed on the sky, while she cycled through her silliest ditties: The Box Song, Steaks and Cakes, Swamp Beasties, and The Library Song. When her voice felt tired, she subsided.
“Will you go back to Dominic after the war?” Felix asked, startling her with the suddenness of the question.
At Annette’s baffled expression, he elaborated, “To see your mother?”
“She’s coming to Fhirdiad to meet Father and I there,” Annette said, feeling her face crease into a smile. “He’s finally agreed to talk to her. I hope they can reconcile and we can be a family again.”
“That’s good, then,” Felix said. “I know that’s what you’ve always wanted.”
“It is, thank you!” she beamed. “What about you, have you at least got some options?”
Felix shrugged, and returned his gaze upwards. “A few.”
“Whatever path you choose, I hope it will bring you satisfaction,” Annette said, refraining from making a fist pump of encouragement; the moment seemed wrong for that.
“We’ll see. Without fighting, someone to best on the battlefield, I’m not sure who I am any more.”
The bleak way he spoke overrode Annette’s sense of self preservation. She placed her hand over his on the iron railing, and squeezed.
“Then find out. I believe in you, Felix.”
As the seconds passed with no response, her resolve faltered, and she retracted her hand to its previous perch—enough out of range that Felix would have to make the conscious choice to reach for her. A part of Annette that she only half-understood yearned that he’d do it, jump across the chasm that had always divided them. But he didn’t move at all; like he’d barely noticed her reaction.
“I… hope you keep singing,” he mumbled.
“What?” she asked stupidly.
Felix turned and looked down at her, an indecipherable emotion flitting across his face before settling in his eyes. Like the last time she’d sang for him in the greenhouse, Annette found herself trembling from the way he loomed over her and made her uncomfortably aware of his every movement.
“Wherever you go from here, I hope you always find something to sing about,” he said quietly.
Heat swept over her neck and climbed upwards. She hoped the moonlight disguised the telltale flush that saturated her fair skin.
“Oh. Um, thank you.”
“Take care of yourself, Annette,” he said.
He gave her a clipped nod and walked away.
Annette’s heart cracked in half. With the aftershocks came the cataclysmic truth of how much she had come to care for him over the years: how she’d always relied on him to fight to his last breath; to tell her whenever she’d screwed up and when she’d done well without sugarcoating the truth; and how much she’d come to appreciate his occasionally blunt assertion that she was more than the sad teenager determined to bring her father home.
Somehow, without her awareness or her permission, Annette Fantine Dominic had fallen in love with Felix Hugo Fraldarius, and her chance to tell him had just crumbled to dust like the Adrestian Empire.
Annette looked up at the Blue Sea Star, glowing brightly amidst the smattering of smaller pinpricks of stars in the blue-black bowl of the sky, and felt a tear slide down her cheek, for what could have been.
* * *
14 Wyvern Moon, 1186
Royal Castle, Fhirdiad
A gust of wind swept along the open corridors surrounding the inner courtyard of the Castle Blaiddyd, where Annette nearly slipped in a pile of brightly colored leaves on her way to meet Ingrid. The late autumn weather had been kind this year, granting them mostly sunny days and minimal rain. More often than not, Annette had been able to see the Blue Sea Star for her nightly song, and lately she’d needed it.
It wasn’t that post-war life was especially difficult—more the juxtaposition of how much had changed versus how much remained the same. With the exception of Felix and Sylvain, who’d returned to oversee reparations in their home territories, the rest of the original Blue Lions house was based out of Fhirdiad, assisting King Dimitri in rebuilding the country. The security of having her friends around—while trying to ignore the constant ache of missing Felix, who had claimed his father’s title after all—had become the foundation of Annette’s world. But so much else had changed at the same time.
Having reached the bench that allowed her the best view of the sky, Annette gratefully sank against its hard stone seat, and reclined as far as she dared without falling off. Her eyes sought and found the Blue Sea Star, glowing brightly despite the last vestiges of pale orange sunset tinting the sky. Dusk had fallen, although the dinner hour hadn’t yet approached.
Watching the star’s light glow brighter as the sky darkened by degrees, Annette found herself humming her song for lost souls. Then her thoughts drifted eastward, to Fraldarius territory, and she wondered what Felix was doing at that moment. He was probably too busy to even train, let alone stop and think about her.
“Annette!”
She turned and smiled at Hilda Goneril and Caspar von Bergliez, who’d approached without her noticing. The pair had stopped by the capital for provisions before resuming their exploration of Fódlan, and Annette was grateful for the brief opportunity of seeing them.
“Hilda, Caspar! I’m so glad I can say goodbye!” she said, staggering to her feet to give each one a hug. “Stay safe out there, His Highness says a lot of bandits are on the roads.”
“Any bandits bugging us will get more than they bargained for!” Caspar declared, giving her a fist pump.
Hilda giggled at his side, and linked her arm through his.
“I’m counting on you to handle them, Caspar,” she said, smiling up at him with easy affection that Annette both admired and envied. “I couldn’t ever compete with muscles like these!”
“Gotta stay strong when I’m fighting to keep you safe!”
“Oh my, Caspar, you spoil me so much,” Hilda said, crinkling her nose cutely at him, and earning a grin in response.
“Hey, now, it’s nothing you don’t deserve, Hilda.”
The love in their gazes was so pronounced, Annette had to refrain from clasping her hands and cooing over it, like Mercedes might have done if she’d been present. The moment lengthened and then passed. Turning back to face Annette, Hilda tossed her pink ponytails over her shoulders and smiled.
“My big brother insisted that I represent House Goneril during the summit, so we’ll be back in a month,” she said. “What a pain, but at least it ought to be interesting theater.”
Annette nodded and agreed. King Dimitri had decided last week to summon all of the noble houses, both ally and foe, for a summit meeting to swear fealty to the newly unified Fódlan, as well as to hear their appeals for financial support. Her uncle, Baron Dominic, who had supported the usurper Cornelia, would be in attendance. So would Felix and Sylvain.
With a last chorus of goodbyes, Hilda and Caspar departed, leaving Annette alone with her thoughts.
She smiled at the realization that the open and loving way her friends interacted mirrored her parents, who had rekindled their marriage. Annette shared quarters with them in the same wing of the Castle that the King lived in, and the arrangement had worked well for a while. Only recently—after multiple interruptions of her parents’ shared confidences, or walking into the family living space to the sight of them holding each other’s hands with love in their eyes—had Annette begun to feel like an intruder. As much as she exulted in seeing their renewed love and faith in each other, she didn’t feel good about being a constant witness of their private moments. It felt wrong; and worse, it made her feel lonely.
“Sorry I’m late!” boomed Ingrid’s voice from behind her.
“There you are!” Annette said when her companion joined her beside the bench. “I’ve been waiting for the hours to pass ever since receiving your note!”
“You know about the summit meeting for all of the noble houses, right?”
At Annette’s nod, Ingrid grinned. “Well, I just received a letter for Sylvain this morning. He and Felix are coming several days early! Won’t that be wonderful? It’ll be like the reunion all over again!”
“Oh, that’s great, Ingrid!”
Over the last six weeks, Annette had smiled politely at each mention of Felix, and she did so again, willing her heart to stop hurting from every utterance of his name. Fraldarius was pretty close to Fhirdiad, but it might as well have been the other side of the world, given Felix’s relative silence since his return.
“I’m sure they’ve been really busy assessing the damage from the war with Cornelia,” Annette continued.
“Sylvain said things are bad in Gautier, but far worse in Fraldarius. Felix’s uncle struggled to hold things together in his absence, and I know that’s been one headache after another for him since he claimed the title.”
This time, the pain in Annette’s heart stemmed from concern for Felix’s well-being. That state of affairs was far from what she’d hoped for him when he’d left for home with a brusque farewell.
“Oh no, that’s horrible!” she said. “I’d hoped that inheriting the title would help him find a sense of purpose.”
Ingrid shook her head and chuckled, “Honestly, I’m amazed we haven’t heard him screaming in fury all the way from Castle Fraldarius.”
Annette tried to force a giggle, but the sound stuck in her throat, and she passed it off as a cough instead. When she returned her gaze to Ingrid’s, there was a probing look in the latter’s wide green eyes.
“You haven’t heard from Felix, have you? He wasn’t ever a great correspondent to begin with, but lately all of my information is from Sylvain or Dimitri.”
Felix had written Annette a grand total of two times since his return home. The first was to tersely thank her for her congratulatory note on becoming Duke Fraldarius. (“This place is a disaster, and I’d challenge my old man to a fight if he were still here. If you ever need someone to knock your father down to earth, tell me; I need a decent bout.”) Her reply she’d made herself keep to no more than two pages, but the weeks had passed with no answer.
Right when she’d been certain their friendship had died a natural death, she’d received a cryptic missive in his harried script. (“Sylvain says your favorite color is blue, is that true?”) That was especially baffling, but she’d answered it ten days ago, confirming that yes, she loved blue shades, especially cobalt, azure, and teal. (The last always made her think of him, not that she’d ever tell anyone that—not even Mercie.)
Aware she’d been silent too long, Annette’s mouth took over before her cheeks sported crimson banners.
“Just a few notes—you know Felix!” she laughed. “Speaking of Sylvain... rumor has it he’s trying to court you!”
Ingrid’s face took on a pretty pink hue in the fading light.
“You know how he is,” she demurred. “Lots of pretty words and no action.”
Annette grabbed her hand and squeezed.
“But you haven’t denied it! Is he really trying to court you? That’s so romantic!”
“I haven’t encouraged him!” Ingrid protested, but returned Annette’s grip. “I mean, he hasn’t formally asked me, no matter what he writes.”
“But he’s writing about it?”
Annette felt a pang of jealousy, like a patch of weeds trying to grow in her heart, and tried to shake the sensation. Today was not about her feelings, but about rallying her friend’s. She took Ingrid’s other hand and held them both before dropping the contact.
“You know, I was just teasing you earlier,” she said. “You don’t have to tell me anything that’s private.”
“No, it’s… nice to have someone to talk to about it,” Ingrid said.
She gestured towards the empty bench, and they both sat down, facing each other.
“I’ve been confused,” she confessed.
“About how you feel?”
“More about him,” Ingrid said. “Like if he really means it.”
Annette nodded vehemently. “You’ve never been a throwaway girl to Sylvain, despite his previous behavior. Not even at the Academy.”
“I know, it’s just…” Ingrid averted her gaze to her hands, resting neatly in her lap. “What if he gets bored of me after a while? I don’t think I could bear the idea of being with someone who fell out of love with me.”
Annette leaned forward and gave her a quick hug, pulling back after her friend’s initial tension relaxed.
“I can’t see how anyone who truly loved you would ever do such a thing. Has Sylvain actually said the L word?”
Ingrid blushed deeply enough Annette could see it in the light of the lanterns lining the walls of the corridors surrounding the courtyard.
“Um… not exactly. I mean, he’s written about courtship, telling me he’s in earnest. He even teased he’d gotten something—oh what was it? Let me pull the letter out.”
She reached into the leather pouch she wore on her belt, and extracted a much folded letter. Leaning into a patch of lantern light, she held the letter out to read.
“It’s right here: ‘I’m bringing you something, but you’ll have to guess what it is. Here are some hints of where I’ve gone in my hunt for the perfect gift for you: a farrier who specializes in pegasus equipment, a confectioner, and a jeweler that Felix suggested. You’ll have to wait and see when I arrive.’ Typical Sylvain.”
Annette’s brain froze on the single allusion to Felix and shut off.
“A jeweler that Felix suggested?” she repeated dumbly. “How would he know anything about jewelry?”
Ingrid looked up from the letter, and her expression shifted from dreamy to shrewd.
“Don’t tell me, he’s going to elope in secret,” Annette heard her mouth say. “Skip the formality of courtship and wedding and just get the deed over with.”
Ingrid threw her head back and laughed. “You certainly know how he views that subject!”
Annette’s face burned, but she tried hard to giggle like it was a joke, and she hadn’t just made a huge blunder. Ingrid looked at her steadily for a moment, then shook her head.
“In all seriousness, it’s more likely his father employed the jeweler. He’s probably been stuck going through all of the family accounts for various retainers.”
“Oh, yeah, of course,” Annette said, wishing she could will away the churning feeling in her gut at the idea of Felix finding happiness with someone else.
Why hadn’t she told him how she felt when she had the chance?
A sudden rumbling sound thankfully spared her from further rumination. Ingrid’s stomach had loudly informed them of its displeasure.
“Let’s go into dinner, you clearly need to eat!” Annette said, rising to her feet.
“Well, I won’t say no if you’re sure,” Ingrid admitted, and stood. “Only I want to hear more about you, and the possible teaching job at the School of Sorcery.”
“That I can do, and happily!”
Linking arms, they left the courtyard together.
* * *
12 Red Wolf Moon, 1186
Royal Castle, Fhirdiad
Annette poked at the food on her plate and gazed distractedly at the Blue Sea Star that rose like a halo above Sylvain’s head—a beautifully painted version of the star, not the real thing. They sat across from each other at the long table in the Royal Banquet Hall, a room that His Highness used sparingly. But it was magnificent: the long space had exposed timber framing, high ceilings, and plastered walls decorated with a series of frescoes painted in Loog’s time. They mostly featured the four Saints, the goddess, and the Blue Sea Star, which was Annette’s favorite. (She might have even chosen this seat opposite the mural for that reason.)
But in the middle of a banquet on the first day of the summit for all of Fódlan’s nobility was not the ideal place to sing her worries away.
Instead, Annette tried to stuff her exhaustion from the long day like she’d downed most of the scrumptious meal. The cavernous space was so full of people, the noise was more deafening than a packed assemblage at the cathedral for a day of hymns. The castle was filled to the rafters with visiting dignitaries, the inns nearby were full, and the normal seating arrangement of one long table in the center of the banquet hall had been doubled to two, with a corridor of space between them for people to move around.
Annette felt fortunate she’d been able to get seating near her friends, largely thanks to Mercie, who, as a commoner, had chosen to help the servants with setting up the room. She’d saved a whole section of the table within sight of Dimitri for the Garreg Mach contingent.
“Is this the last course?” Sylvain asked loudly, receiving a chorus of affirmative replies from his friends.
“It can’t be, I’m not nearly full enough,” Ingrid said from Annette’s left, and everyone laughed.
“I believe there’s still dessert to come,” Mercedes said, and Annette leaned back to allow the two women to make eye contact.
Felix, who was seated between Sylvain and Dedue, shook his head at his friends’ antics. He briefly met Annette’s eyes, then looked away.
Sighing, she prodded at her half-finished leg of lamb, but couldn’t work up more appetite. Felix had been acting oddly ever since his arrival with Sylvain two days before, but today he’d been more cantankerous than she was used to seeing. It had begun with his surprise return to Fraldarius territory on “business,” as Sylvain put it with raised eyebrows. Whatever the business was, it had made him late for the opening of the summit meeting, and Dimitri had unexpectedly grinned at his friend when he’d finally appeared. Sylvain had done something more baffling, and slapped him on the shoulder, nearly getting slugged in response. Annette had looked askance at Ingrid, and received a single word: “Men.”
It was as good an answer as any, but the strange antics of the north Faerghus lords had carried over into dinner. Sylvain was overly loud and had barely touched his food, spending much of his spare time gazing at Ingrid, who kept blushing and pretending not to notice. Felix practically glowered into his plate, presumably annoyed by his friends dancing around each other—not that Annette could blame him. And Dimitri kept looking in their direction throughout the course of the meal, a wide smile on his face. Even his fiancée, Byleth, their former professor and current Archbishop of the Church of Seiros, had an expectant look on her face whenever she glanced their way. Something was afoot.
“Are you going to eat that, by chance?” Ingrid’s voice broke through Annette’s reverie, her eyes longingly fastened on the lamb.
Before Annette could respond, Sylvain shoved his largely uneaten plate across the table at Ingrid.
“More on my plate for you, Ingrid.”
She reached for it, when he suddenly pulled it back.
“Wait a minute, something is stuck here. Huh, what’s this?” he asked.
He extracted a beautifully embroidered handkerchief from the hand underneath his plate, which was bundled up like gift wrapping. Ingrid’s face turned crimson when he handed that to her.
“This looks too pretty for me,” he said. “I want you to have it.”
“Sylvain, what are you about— oh my goddess!”
She lifted up a beautifully made necklace from inside the handkerchief. It was made of sterling silver on a silver chain, shaped like a pegasus with finely carved details, including two green emerald chips for eyes.
Tears sprung to Ingrid’s eyes, and she gaped at the gift, then Sylvain, then back again.
“This is… so stunningly beautiful.”
“I want you to have it, if you’ll take it—and me,” Sylvain said, his dark eyes fixed on her face. “Consider me in earnest, Ingrid, when I tell you that my heart took flight for you long before I knew what flying felt like. This was the best way I could think of to show you.”
“At dinner? In front of everyone?” she demanded, but the tears of joy streaking her face gave her feelings away.
“You adore food and you love your friends, and this seemed the best place in all of Fódlan to ask you to consider courtship. If you say no this time, I’ll know you really mean it, and I’ll accept that.”
He looked so sincere, Annette wanted to start crying, and she heard Mercie sniffling on her right.
Ingrid looked at him and smiled, her entire face lighting up. She reached for his hands across the table, and he was quick to lace his fingers with hers.
“I accept it, Sylvain. But I have a few words for later about your choice of venue—which might be kinder if you give me that lamb.”
"Whatever my lady requests," Sylvain grinned.
He squeezed her fingers, then released them to pass over his plate. Ingrid set it in front of her, then reached back around her neck to fasten the pendant, to the sound of sudden applause from their friends.
“A toast!” Ashe proclaimed, from Ingrid’s left. “To the happy couple!”
“Wait, did someone just get engaged? At dinner?” Hilda asked from next to Ashe, her pink eyes wide. “That was bold. I will definitely drink to that!”
This time both Sylvain and Ingrid were bright red when the cheers erupted. From the head of the table, Dimitri grinned and raised his glass high in the air, mirrored by Byleth, and the toast was official.
“Oh my, that was so wonderfully unexpected!” Mercedes said, after congratulating both halves of the happy couple. “Your pendant is absolutely stunning, Ingrid! What a sweet, thoughtful gift.”
Ingrid blushed for probably the fifteenth time in the last five minutes, and Annette grinned at her, thrilled that her friend’s doubts had been finally laid to rest. It was wonderful to see Ingrid glowing with happiness, and Sylvain as well, although he showed it differently.
“She finally agreed,” he said to Felix, before his eyes drifted back to his new fiancée. “I can’t believe it, I never thought it would happen.”
Felix shook his head, but his lips were curled upwards in the faintest of smiles.
“Amazing what happens when you stop being an idiot,” he said.
Sylvain slid his regard back to his friend. “Look who’s calling the kettle black, bud.”
Felix crossed his arms and looked away. “Shut up.”
“Waiting will drive you mad, you know.”
Felix shoved his chair backwards, and stalked off. Annette gaped, while Sylvain chuckled and shook his head.
She couldn’t keep from watching Felix walk to the wall of frescoes and lean against it, arms folded. His volatility was uncharacteristic even for him, and her overloaded brain suddenly picked up on the subtext of Sylvain’s comments. Wait… had Sylvain implied Felix was interested in someone, too? How was that possible? He’d hardly spent time with any women except for her and Ingrid, and it was clear he had no interest in either of them.
Annette’s confusion escalated when Bernadetta von Varley excused herself from farther down the table and went to stand by Felix. The terrified, stammering girl from the Academy was gone, replaced by a more confident young woman—the new leader of House Varley—who carried herself with her head and shoulders held high. She asked Felix a question Annette couldn’t make out over the din, and he answered. To her astonishment, they continued speaking.
When had Felix become friendly with Bernadetta? It surely couldn’t be more than that… could it?
“An engagement over dinner seems the perfect herald of a new era of peace and prosperity!” Ferdinand, the new Duke of Aegir, loudly proclaimed, causing Annette to start in her seat.
His statement drew half the attention of the main table, and his wife, Dorothea, discreetly handed him a glass of water.
“Best stick to water now, Ferdie,” she said, an affectionate smile on her face.
“Truly, my love, I mean it! Surely this occasion calls for at least some music to celebrate? What if you and Manuela sang a duet?”
“I think that’s a wonderful idea, provided the ladies would consent to sharing their talents,” Dimitri said from the head of the table.
Dorothea and Manuela didn’t require much persuasion with the royal endorsement. After a quick conference, Manuela went to discuss song choices with the small group of musicians that had been quietly playing throughout the meal. Dorothea vacated her seat and came to a stop in front of Ingrid, who’d barely finished the last of Sylvain’s leftovers. After voicing her congratulations, she got to the matter at hand.
“Do you have a favorite song you’d like us to sing in your honor, Ingrid?”
Ingrid’s embarrassment was barely contained; it was clear she wasn’t used to this degree of attention. “Um, no, it’s really fine, you don’t have to do anything special for me.”
Dorothea clasped her hands and chuckled, her green eyes dancing. “My dear Ingrid, you just agreed to courtship with the man no one ever believed would fall in love and settle. You wield a magic like no other!”
Ingrid made a face. “Okay now, that’s enough teasing.”
“Dorothea has a point, Ingrid!” said Mercedes. “I know how Sylvain used to feel about only being seen as the crest-bearing Scion of House Gautier. You’ve never treated him that way.”
“That’s because I’ve known him my whole life,” Ingrid said.
Annette wasn’t going to let her dismiss her role in Sylvain’s life so readily. “And you’ve always tried to take care of him, too! It’s beyond romantic.”
Ingrid blushed and the other women laughed. Dorothea reached out and took Ingrid’s hand and squeezed it affectionately.
“Well, from one happy woman with a reformed partner to another, allow me to wish you the best with a song. Please?”
“Very well, if you insist,” Ingrid relented, flashing a genuine smile. “I will take that gift with pleasure.”
“Good!” Dorothea clapped her hands.
“If nothing else, you could always sing the ballad of Loog and the Maiden of Wind,” Ashe chimed in. “That’s one of Ingrid’s favorite tales!”
Dorothea made a face when Ingrid agreed, and shook her head.
“Not this time, lady, you only get engaged once! Now, go sit beside Sylvain, don’t be shy! We’ll be standing right in the center of the room, so you can see us from there.”
Face aflame once more, Ingrid rose to her feet, and did what her friend had suggested.
Dorothea grinned at Annette and Mercedes, then walked back the way she’d come, towards where Manuela and the musicians had moved. When she passed her husband’s chair, she paused and leaned down to give him a hug, along with an affectionate kiss on the forehead. Annette blinked in shock when Ferdinand reached out and pulled Dorothea into his arms, kissing her in a manner that she never imagined he’d do in public, given his normal fixation on manners. Both of them were flushed—and not just from the wine—when he released her.
Annette’s heart swelled in her chest over how incredibly romantic that moment was. She couldn’t even imagine how it would feel to have someone look at her like she was the sun, the moon, and the stars, and to show it so openly. Ferdinand took it a step further, rhapsodizing about his wife’s many talents to everyone in earshot.
“Her eyes gleam like emeralds in the sun, you know!” he told Flayn, who smiled indulgently from across the table. “And her voice is as pure as the bells pealing in the cathedral. Did you know she writes poetry, too?”
Because Annette was a glutton for punishment, she turned her head and discreetly sought out Felix, but he’d disappeared from his place alongside the wall. Her heart skipped a beat, and she looked to see if Bernadetta had left with him. However, Bernie was back at the table, smiling at Raphael Kirsten, who had become a knight to the liege lord of his hometown, and was here as part of that lord’s entourage. No one else seemed to be absent, and Annette’s heart sank at the idea that Felix had once again disappeared without warning. She needed to stop letting it bother her!
“If anyone would like to turn their chairs around for the performance, we’ll begin in five minutes!” Manuela’s voice carried across the room, belying her training as an opera diva.
Everyone on Annette’s side of the table stood and reoriented their seats for a better view. Ashe sent Annette a smile, then vacated his seat, relocating beside Marianne von Edmund, who greeted him with a soft smile. Across the table, the motion of Sylvain’s arm moving around Ingrid’s shoulder caught Annette’s eye. Ingrid moved her chair closer to him and burrowed against his side.
Annette spun around to allow them privacy, joy competing with jealousy in her heart, and nearly smacked into someone standing in front of her.
Felix. Holding two plates of cake. She might have thought she’d hallucinated his presence if it weren’t for the uncertainty in his dark amber eyes.
“Oh, Felix!” she laid a hand over her racing heart. “I didn’t see you there.”
He shrugged, and held out one of the plates like he was afraid it would bite him.
“I was just walking by the door when they started bringing these in, so… here,” he said. “I know you like sweets.”
Annette suddenly felt very warm. “Oh! Um, thank you so much!”
She accepted the offering, and stood awkwardly, wondering if she should sit. The sounds of everyone else taking their seats decided her. She sank onto the hard wooden chair, and pointed to the empty seat next to her with her free hand.
“Won’t you, um... sit down? Assuming you’re staying for the music, I mean. Ingrid kind of took your spot.”
“Sure,” Felix said.
He stiffly sat beside her, his leg brushing against her skirts. The pool of warmth in Annette’s chest spread throughout the rest of her limbs, and she felt overheated in her new wool gown she’d gotten made specially for the summit. It was in one of her favorite autumn palettes—forest green, trimmed with copper accents, like the lacing at the upper sleeves before they spread into a bell shape at the elbow. Ivory lace rounded the neckline (lower than she usually wore), the cuffs of her sleeves, and the hem of her skirts. It was a look she knew contrasted nicely with her orange hair and pale coloring, but sitting next to Felix in his house colors, looking uncomfortably ducal, she felt silly and self conscious.
Face burning, she dug into the cake like it was her salvation.
“It’s delicious!” she said, after the first hit of sweetness saturated her taste buds. “I’m not sure I would have lasted much longer without sugar to sustain me.”
When she dared a glance at Felix, he was watching her, his fingers gripping the plate on his lap, cake untouched.
“So that’s how you fuel yourself to do everything so cheerfully?” he asked.
Annette made a face. “Is that an insult or a compliment?”
“It was just a question.” He shrugged, and looked down at his cake. “Never mind, it’s not important.”
“Oh. Um…”
At a loss for words, Annette shoved another fork full in her mouth. Maybe the dessert could grant her the ability to say things more smoothly? Like channeling the energy of the chocolate ganache frosting?
Turning back to Felix with a smile, Annette tried again. “Did you bring me two pieces to make sure I didn’t keel over from exhaustion? Or because you wanted to see me act like Ferdinand?”
Felix blinked, then looked concerned—not the response she was going for.
“Do you need to leave if you’re that tired?”
“Oh, no, I’ll be fine—” she demurred.
“I could walk you—”
The shadow of a person standing over them cut off all conversation.
“Is that piece of cake unclaimed, Felix, or did I finally convert you to into liking sweets?” asked Lysithea von Ordelia, arms crossed.
Annette stared at the white-haired woman, mouth slack, astonished by her familiarity with Felix. Had he secretly hung out with everyone in the monastery except for her? She unwound her tongue from the roof of her mouth and greeted Lysithea, then looked accusingly at Felix.
“You like sweets? Since when?”
Felix emphatically shook his head. “I don’t like—”
“Oh good, I’m starved, and my piece was barely adequate,” Lysithea interjected, plopping into the empty chair on Felix’s other side. “Hand it over!”
Felix unceremoniously shoved the cake at her, his cheeks tinged with pink, and crossed his arms. Annette shoved another forkful into her mouth to keep from gaping at them. She’d gotten to know the dark mage pretty well over the course of the war, and from many late night study sessions in the library. But Lysithea hadn’t once mentioned any close friendship with Felix. Was it her that Felix was interested in, given his current blushing silence?
Lysithea didn’t give either of them much chance to speak, digging into her dessert with gusto and many exclamations of its superior sweetness and spongy texture. Feeling numb and lost, Annette settled for doing the same thing, mechanically eating a cake that no longer tasted like much of anything over the bile she felt coating her tongue. Maybe she should just turn and talk to Mercie instead, even though the older woman was happily engaged in a conversation about adoptive fathers with Marianne.
“I’m glad to see the Professor—I mean the Archbishop and Dimitri are together again. I imagine he’s as lonely as she seems sometimes at the monastery,” Lysithea said.
Felix scowled, but the expression lacked his normal bite. “I wouldn’t know, I’m rarely here. The boar sends plenty of letters to remind me of his existence.”
Lysithea smirked, and looked at Annette, who was more willing to discuss the subject.
“Are you at Garreg Mach right now, Lysithea?”
“On occasion. I traveled to this summit with the monastery contingent, since Linhardt dragged us over there to research more about my crests with Hanneman.”
Annette’s eyebrows raised in interest.
“Linhardt is studying your crests? Why isn’t he here for the summit?”
“Oh, he gave up his title, said it was in the way of his studies,” Lysithea waved a hand airily. “Unlike some people I know.”
Felix stiffened, and abruptly rocked to his feet. “I need to talk to the boar about something. I’ll see you later.”
With that, he walked towards the head of the table, leaving Lysithea and Annette staring after him.
“Well, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed today,” the younger woman huffed.
Thankfully, Annette was saved from reply by the hush that fell over the room when the musicians tuned their instruments, and Manuela and Dorothea took their places. Their postures were transformed, like they were standing on the grand stage of Mittelfrank Opera House, and Annette marveled at their ability to do that, when singing always made her feel so self conscious.
They opened with a dedication to the newly engaged couple, and began a stunning duet about love, with Manuela singing the mezzo-soprano and Dorothea the soprano parts. Their voices entwined in perfect harmony, and the mood in the banquet hall changed, with everyone enthralled by the performance.
When it was over, there was a hush before a round of thunderous applause.
“Stupendous, my love!” Ferdinand exclaimed, clambering to his feet. “You are a jewel among the stars!”
In the chair beside him, Caspar looked at Hilda with the softest expression, and leaned over to kiss her on the forehead.
Annette had tears in her eyes, wishing desperately that she had someone to hug, someone to see and accept the glut of emotion that had rocked her all evening. Instead, she wrapped her arms around herself.
Mercedes leaned over and laid a hand on Annette’s shoulder.
“Are you all right, Annie?” she whispered. “You look quite pale.”
Annette sagged against her friend’s touch, so grateful for the comfort Mercie had offered her. “Oh, it’s nothing! Just tired from a long day.”
Her friend looked unconvinced. “Why don’t you get some fresh air and some space to yourself? I believe you can see the Blue Sea Star from the star-gazing terrace by the zen garden.”
Escaping the overly crowded space with too many happy, loving people sounded like the perfect respite for Annette’s overtaxed heart.
“But wouldn’t it be rude to walk out in the middle of the performance?” she murmured, nodding towards the singers, who were getting ready to start another song.
Mercie shook her head. “If you’re feeling unwell, I’m sure everyone would understand. I’ll tell anyone who asks. Off with you now, just don’t forget your cloak!”
* * *
Mercedes was a perceptive woman, and the very best of friends. It was freezing outside in a way Annette hadn’t felt all year, and the cold immediately snapped her out of her stupor.
Winter in Fhirdiad always felt like an abrupt shift Annette was unprepared for, as though the colorful foliage dropped en masse overnight and invited the frost in. It had an energy she had come to associate with Felix—watchful, but always prepared to strike in an instant.
Chill emanated from the stone flagstones beneath her feet as Annette descended the steps of the terraced Royal Gardens and crossed the expanse of the star-gazing terrace. She paused steps away from the sunken garden. The weak moonlight illuminated the gently swirling patterns in the white gravel, and Annette took a moment to appreciate its simple beauty before her eye inevitably traveled upwards, to the ultramarine sky above.
A stray breeze scattered dried leaves across the terrace, and she pulled her heavy winter cloak tighter around herself before drawing a deep breath.
“To all of those who lost the day, let me send your soul on its way,” she sang, opening with her nightly ritual.
Usually the act of singing for forgiveness helped ground her, but tonight it wasn’t working. She knew the reason why—Felix’s presence had turned her into a ghost of herself. It wasn’t just knowing that her regard for him wasn’t reciprocated. Her moroseness also stemmed from feeling unmoored, like a lone skiff adrift in a sea without an anchor or any stars to navigate by.
Tonight, it felt like it had sunk into her bloodstream, sluggish and ugly, taunting her how all of her friends had found their compasses to their future paths—knighthood, noble titles, advising King Dimitri, leading rebuilding efforts, and into loving relationships. Unlike them, she stood alone. Undecided.
As much as Annette was thrilled for her friends who’d found their futures, the seeds of jealousy that had germinated in her heart had sprouted, growing into a twisted bramble that felt like it was choking her. What would it feel like to have that sense of purpose? To know who you were and what direction you were going in—and to have someone who wanted to walk that path alongside you?
She wasn’t sure she’d ever know. And she hated the weakness in her soul that mired her in such negativity.
Sighing, she found herself adding a new verse to her “Return to the goddess” song.
“These vows I’ll sing nightly, I promise it’s true, even when the Blue Sea Star fades from view.”
A crunching sound of boots trampling over dead leaves made her start.
“You’re still singing that song with the war over?” asked the last person she’d expected to encounter.
Felix Hugo Fraldarius, who had barely looked at her all evening, had picked now, with Annette at her most vulnerable, to follow her outside. She buried her pathetic feelings into the quivering shell of her heart and turned to face him, taking refuge in defiance.
“This has become a bad habit of yours, interrupting me before I’m finished,” she said. “Without the war, there’s no reason to take any more captives.”
“Hmph,” he huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “That’s not the word I’d use any more.”
Baffled by his reply, Annette stared at him. Felix didn’t hold her gaze long, and tilted his head up to look at the sky.
He had donned the same cloak he’d worn since his return: fur-lined, in the Fraldarius colors, simple in adornment, but finely made. Standing so still and regal, he suddenly reminded Annette of his father—like carrying the burden of Fraldarius territory had settled around him in some physical way that altered his previous wariness into something more weighty.
“Do you like living in Fhirdiad?” Felix asked, breaking Annette out of her thoughts.
“Oh, yes!” she said, forcing cheerfulness into her tone. “It’s nice enough, although I’m usually too busy to do much other than work.”
She could do this, make small talk until he stated whatever concerns he had or found some other reason to walk away. Facing the world’s obstacles with a brave smile was what Annette Fantine Dominic did best, and this time would be no exception.
“Dimitri asked Mercie and me to oversee the process of reopening the School of Sorcery,” she said brightly. “She’s been selecting students from the orphanages with magical aptitude, and I’m helping develop the curriculum. I’ve been invited to teach in the spring.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” Felix said, lowering his head to look at her. “Is that what you want to do?”
In the weak moonlight, his eyes seemed darker than their usual bourbon color, more like poured molasses, or the richest maple syrup she’d ever had the joy of consuming. Why was she thinking of food right now? Especially sweet foods, in relation to Felix, of all people? Her brain was beyond addled.
So Annette’s mouth jumped to the rescue, and began prattling.
“Yeah, of course! I mean… I love the idea of teaching, but at the same time, Reason is ultimately about doing harm to another to protect yourself. Of course it has practical applications outside of battle, but—sorry, I’m sure you’re not interested in all that.”
“It’s fine.”
He didn’t say anything else, just kept watching her with a steady gaze. Annette’s heart decided to change its rhythm, adopting the cadence of a military march. Hurriedly, she changed the subject.
“How is life in Fraldarius? Ingrid said you’ve been busy?”
“That’s a word for it,” he said.
He wrinkled his nose in a way she found ridiculously cute, mimicking one of the monastery cats that had zealously dived into a saucer of milk and ended up with soaked whiskers. It took her a moment to regain her faculties.
“As opposed to…?” she prompted.
“Something unforgivably rude.”
Annette giggled at his expression, coupled with that sardonic delivery.
“Since when have you ever cared about that?” she asked, flashing the first genuine smile since his appearance.
“I don’t know.” Felix shook his head. “Ugh, maybe I am turning into my old man. He’d be laughing his head off if he saw me now.”
“Well, you’re safe unless you start wearing stately robes and grow whiskers on your face.”
She laughed at the comical look of disgust that suffused his visage, and felt part of the tension in her shoulders dissolve. The ball of nervous energy in her gut was still intact, and it expanded further when he regarded her in an intense manner that reminded her of the sharp-edged appraisal he’d given everyone at the Academy. Only this was different… softened, somehow.
The seconds ticked by, and he said nothing, just kept looking at her like he was seeing through her.
Annette swallowed nervously. If another minute passed with him staring at her in silence, she might explode and ask every stupid question darting through her head, starting with “Why haven’t you written to me more than twice, you villain?” Her brain scoured its shrinking pool of safe topics and grasped one like a lifeline.
“Um… you gave Sylvain good advice on the jeweler. Ingrid’s pendant is so beautiful and finely made.”
“He told you about the jeweler?” Felix asked sharply, and Annette flinched.
“Not directly, it was in a letter—”
His lips flattened into a disapproving line, and she swore he radiated a chill that was even colder than the frigid air around them.
“Will that idiot ever stay out of my business?”
“I only meant it as a compliment, you— ugh! Is it a crime to give you one now?” she demanded, irritated by his strange reaction. “Why do you care about what Sylvain wrote Ingrid?”
Felix flushed and looked at the ground, and Annette suddenly, desperately didn’t want the answer—couldn’t bear the thought of hearing about his feelings for someone else. She prayed that an earthquake would strike and claim her, ending the sheer misery of this conversation.
“Forget I said anything,” she mumbled. “I never say the right thing when I'm anxious.”
“I thought you were cold.”
“That, too! It's freezing out here,” she said, crossing her arms under her cloak for emphasis. “We ought to go in.”
She turned on her heels to beat a hasty retreat, but Felix moved and blocked her path. He laid a hand on her shoulder, and she could feel the warmth of his fingers as though he touched her bare skin.
“Not yet.”
A tremor that had nothing to do with the cold shuddered through Annette’s body, and she quavered at the depth of emotion in his dark eyes. He stepped closer and reached inside his cloak, extracting something from inside a hidden pocket cleverly sewn into the lining.
“Here, I brought this.”
He grabbed her hand and shoved something into it, then dropped the contact like her leather glove had burned him.
Annette gaped at the delicate silver ring glinting on her palm, set with a single dark blue gemstone. Blue like the night sky as dusk starts to depart, taking the last of the light with it. She could get lost in a color like that, marveling at its soothing, deep hue.
Gingerly, she picked it up, admiring the way the moonlight refracted against the stone’s faceted edges.
“Oh my goddess, it’s beautiful,” she breathed. “Was it your mother’s?”
He shook his head, an odd look on his face.
“No, I had it made. Once I knew to get a blue stone.”
“Oh.” A hard lump of regret settled into her throat. “I’m sure whomever it’s for will love it.”
“Well, it’s for you, so…”
Felix ducked his head, and even in the faint moonlight, Annette saw a blush creeping up his face. A matching one bloomed on her own cheeks, and her internal organs felt like they had caught on fire.
“How can this be mine?” she whispered, her fingers trembling.
The purpose of his last letter asking about her favorite color became strikingly clear. And the jeweler… was that why he’d found one? For her?
“Whom else would I give it to?” Felix asked, his voice rising. “It’s always been you that… ugh.”
Annette gripped the ring between her fingers, as if it could somehow assuage her shock.
“But you— you don’t act like you care!”
He raked a hand through his hair, looking as confused as she felt. “I told you before, I’ve always been your captive.”
“I thought you meant to my silly songs!” she protested. “That night in Enbarr, when you told me to always find something to sing for, it felt like goodbye.”
Felix blinked at her, his mouth slack.
“I only said that because you wanted to return to your family.”
“To help my parents reconcile! I don’t want to live with them forever, I’m not a girl any more. Seeing them so happy together made me feel like a third wheel, and all I wanted was to create my own future. If you’d given me the words that night, I would have—”
They stared at each other in helpless silence, faces bright enough to be torches piercing the gloom. It struck Annette that all she’d done was accuse Felix of having no feelings for her when he clearly did. He just expressed them through actions—and she had always known that on some level. There were no grand declarations like Sylvain or Ferdinand or even Hilda, because that wasn’t who Felix was; yet she’d exclusively looked to him for verbal signs of love.
The depth of her failure hit her like a blast of Hades.
Not only had she imposed ideas of bold romance and assumed nothing was there because Felix hadn’t shown them, she had never given him any reassurance about her feelings. In neither word nor deed, had Annette ever shown Felix how much she loved him. All she’d done was give up, and lamented her fate. Was that who Annette Fantine Dominic had become in a post-war world, too scared to fight for what she wanted?
Never again would she let her doubts rule her this way.
She stepped close enough that only a few inches separated them, and looked directly into his eyes, hoping he could finally see the light of love in her own.
“If you weren’t sure of my feelings, why did you have this made?” she asked softly.
Felix visibly swallowed and scuffled his feet, his eyes darting furiously around their surroundings before returning to her. His voice sounded rough when he spoke.
“Because I looked at the stars and thought of you. Every night.”
“Oh, Felix... I did, too.”
Annette hadn’t realized that tears had formed in her eyes until Felix reached out to gently wipe one off her cheek. She held his hand against her face before he could retract it, wrapping her fingers over his in a gesture that felt both possessive and desperate. Her heartbeat thumped loudly in her ears, and she once more met his gaze, his expression warmer and softer than she’d ever seen.
“So… will you accept it?” he asked, his voice barely audible.
“Yes! And everything that comes with it!” She smiled through her tears. “I really do love you.”
Annette wasn’t sure which one of them moved first, but it didn’t matter. She was in his arms, warmer than she’d ever felt, lips pressed against Felix’s while a current of feeling passed through her body like the most powerful magical energy she’d ever generated. His hands framed her face, hers were tangled in the fur-trimmed shoulders of his cloak, and it was like ambrosia.
“You're not escaping me again, you villain,” she said when they came up for air.
Felix chuckled, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. His gentle touch felt like fire and magic, and sent shivers down her spine. Who knew a single touch could hold so much emotion?
Clearly reading the wonder on her face, he bent down, intent on repeating their previous embrace. That’s when Annette remembered the ring. She jerked her head in excitement, nearly clipping him in the jaw.
“You have to put this on!” she said, shoving the ring she’d somehow managed not to drop into his surprised grip. “I want it to be official!”
Fond amusement radiated from Felix while she stripped off the ivory glove covering her left hand, and thrust her hand forward. When she grinned up at him, the tears were threatening to spill out again, but this time she didn’t mind their presence.
Slowly, reverently, he slid the ring over her fourth finger, and Annette forgot to breathe for several seconds. For a prolonged moment, they looked at the blue stone glinting on her hand in the dim light.
Annette tucked her glove into the pocket of her cloak, too enthralled by the weight of the future resting on her finger to cover her hand up. The care and consideration Felix had put into having the ring made for her spoke as loudly as any words he could have given her; his kiss had been even more of a proclamation.
If she were truthful, she loved his forms of expression—quieter than Sylvain’s public declaration to Ingrid, Hilda and Caspar’s easy affection, or Ferdinand and Dorothea’s physical closeness. What Felix showed her in private was like opening a treasure trove of knowledge that answered all of her questions, and made her excited to read every page.
She grasped his hands and leaned forward, her face split with a silly grin. “I don’t want to make you wait too long, but I do want to teach next year.”
“And you will,” he said, his voice warm. “I’ll visit the capital whenever I can. Otherwise, I’ll miss your songs.”
Annette made a face, and he gave her that smile she adored, where one side of his mouth quirked upwards just a tad higher than the other. A look she’d rarely seen replaced it—something she could only describe as mischievous.
“You should write new ones so I can interrupt you singing them every time I see you. I’ll even use words, like you said you wanted.”
“Felix! You’re the worst!”
Despite her words, Annette wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling his face towards her so she could show him more of her unspoken emotions.
Just before their lips met, Felix murmured, “I love you, too.”
Then he lifted her off the ground, and kissed her so thoroughly, all other thoughts fled out of Annette’s mind.
When her feet returned to the terrace, it felt like she’d been flying on a racing pegasus and had just come back to solid ground. Opening her eyes, the world around her was still the same, but nothing in her life was—and that was suddenly the best feeling of all.
“We should probably go inside before you freeze to death,” Felix said, his hands still buried in Annette’s hair.
“I’d like that in a minute,” Annette said, releasing her grip on his cloak. “But, could we finish looking at the stars first? Together, this time?”
In answer, Felix gently turned her around and held her against his chest, pulling his cloak around her. This time, Annette waited till he’d lifted his chin before looking up herself.
The Blue Sea Star twinkled in the distance, like always. But now Annette regarded it with the security of knowing that, no matter what else her future held, she had Felix to walk the path with her.
Like the stars, he’d become a fixed constellation in her sky, and she couldn’t wait to see what the rest of their lives brought for them.